Terrible Things
by Triles For Miles
Summary: A broken billionaire and a free-spirited flame find the love they've both been searching for. But don't fall in love. There's just too much to lose. Songfic to "Terrible Things" by Mayday Parade. AU. Triles.
1. The Beginning

**A/N: A few things I want to say before I get started on this story:**

**1.) I really hope AU was the right term to use to describe this fic. I've kinda pushed back and forth on it, so let me explain a bit just in case. In this story, anything that has happened to these characters on the show has never happened. They are meeting as complete strangers and living separately from their mutual storylines in the show. However, I'm keeping a lot of the backstory the same - especially with Miles. **

**2.) I really love writing song-fics! My old account was filled with them, and this certainly is not the last one you guys will see here. It's taken me a while to get one up because I've been looking for the right song to fit with Triles. I have found a few and started them, but this song sort of brought those to a stand-still. When I first heard this song I had an entirely different ship in mind because I could keep it cannon. I wrote that story out (and will probably still post it) but for whatever reason I could not get the idea out of my mind of what it would be like to put Triles in this situation. I tried to shake it off but I couldn't. So, that is why this is here. **

**3.) I realize there are a few lyrics that don't really tie in. Just play along, please. Ignore them if you have to. Also, I changed the original words from female pronouns to male pronouns to make them relevant. The lyrics are the italicized bits. In this chapter they appear at the end.**

_**4.) I'm really, really sorry.**_

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><p><span><strong>Miles' POV<strong>

I stared straight ahead, my dim eyes fixated on one of the cheesy, supposedly uplifting paintings that lay askew against the scuffed white wall. I stayed as still as could be so my eyes couldn't accidentally stray from the focal point I had chosen. It was the only spot in the room I could look that wasn't incredibly depressing. All around me I could hear the sounds - wailing children, phlegmy coughs, frantic feet pounding against the linoleum floor, machines beeping at increasing rates. The temperature was cast ice cold by the shared realization that in that very instant, at least one person in the room was dying. Though, it's likely to be a lot more - and that is reason number one why I fucking hate hospitals. But that and the near toxic aroma of bleach was also what made it impossible to forget where I was. But I was going to try my damn hardest.

The woman to my right appeared only minutes ago and introduced herself as Dr. Lancaster but otherwise remained noiseless as she sorted through a disheveled pile of papers in her lap. Curiosity got the best of me and I hesitantly studied her out of the corner of my eye. I hoped with all my might I wouldn't catch a glimpse of anything that I'd rather remain unseen. For somebody who was supposed to be heroic, she didn't seem very enthused to be there. Her bleary eyes were chased by stress lines that stood out against her mocha skin. She sat slumped over greatly, giving off the impression that she was anything but interested in my condition. When she finally spoke again, her voice was unmistakably exhausted and solemn. For a brief moment I wondered if she wanted to get out of this place just as badly as I did.

"It seems you took quite a thrashing Mr..."

"Hollingsworth." I finished for her, not bothering to remind her that it was not only printed on the paperwork in her hands but also across the much too tight ID bracelet on my wrist. The faster we could get this whole scene over with, the better.

"You're the politician's son?" She asked with an all too sudden interest as she actually looked at me for the first time

I grimaced at her words, wondering when the day would come where someone wouldn't immediately associate me with that monster. I had been living in this town for less than 48 hours. The last thing I needed was recognition. But of course it was going to happen. Everybody was bound to know about the hot-shot Hollingsworth's arrival to Toronto. So I assured her she was correct and pretended to listen to her opinions on unimportant political matters while she examined me. By then, her thin-lipped smile had cracked open and her entire demeanor had brightened at a disgusting pace.

"Your daddy sure seems to have his work cut out for him!" She finished with a chuckle before finally acknowledging the reason we had been brought together "Now, how did these injuries happen again?"

I wanted to tell her to ask my daddy how I got my injuries. That reaction probably would have brought some amusement to the situation. But like always I had to hide my tempted tongue behind clenched teeth.

"Motorcycle accident." I gave my rehearsed answer perfectly - not too rushed, not too hesitant.

I had mastered telling the believable lie long ago. This wasn't the first time my father's temper had landed me in the emergency room, and it most certainly won't be the last. Luckily for my parents' image, my reputation of being a wild child left all my excuses believable. My father had the media convinced I was some rebel without a cause by the time I could walk. Of course, that story was full of just as much bullshit as the rest of them. They said moving to Toronto would be a fresh start; that things would be different now. There was a new campaign brewing with new opportunities that would benefit everybody. Silly me for believing that wasn't just another empty promise like the rest of the garbage that spewed from my father's mouth. Out of anybody, I should have known better.

"Well, your self-diagnosis was spot on. Perhaps a medical degree is in your future?" Dr. Lancaster was apparently full of jokes, but I was not amused. "Your left wrist is broken, and it's possible you're suffering from a mild concussion. But if that is the worst of you really should be grateful."

I refrained from rolling my eyes and went back to sulking over my boredom while she explained what needed to be done. The next hour was spent shoving my forearm in a cast and trying to cram as much information as they could into my mind. They talked about the proper care for my scrapes and bruises and how to nurse my concussion. I managed to nod along when appropriate, but in reality I was just going through the motions.

"Do you have somebody who can bring you and your motor bike back home safely?" Dr. Lancaster asked as our meeting finally came to an end.

"Our driver is already on his way." I told her with a smile, and the one she gave back confirmed she had fallen for another one of my well-planned lies.

Sure, I could make a call and have a driver here within minutes to take me back home. But as much as I hated hospitals, I would rather stay there than return home in that moment. Once I went back home, I would have to deal with the mask. My father would no doubt be waiting with a plastic smile and some sort of lavish gift to try to win over my forgiveness. It was a close race, but sometimes I'd rather just take the beating than deal with that crap. So I wandered around aimlessly outside, eventually finding myself in the parking garage that connected the emergency room to the state hospital. My unharmed hand burrowed deep in my pocket and pulled a cigarette out from a crumpling pack. My fingers dug around every inch, but much to my dismay no lighter was found.

Being underage, I couldn't very well go buy one myself. The lingering smell of cigarette smoke from somewhere in the distance was tempting. I toyed with the idea in the same way I did my cigarette between my fingers, flicking it back and forth as I walked. Desperate times called for desperate measures, but the idea of bumming a light off a stranger seemed so invasive. I caught sight of a puff of smoke from behind a pillar and traced it straight to the source - which made itself known in the form of the most beautiful guy I had ever seen.

I tried my hardest to take in every detail before he disappeared back into my fantasies. He was dressed in all black - a hooded sweatshirt and skinny jeans that somehow still bunched up in areas around his legs. Porcelain skin covered the appendages that gripped the burning cigarette, which lead back to mauve colored lips that formed the perfect natural pout. There was not a blemish in sight along his sculpted facial structure besides the shadowy circles surrounding his weary chestnut eyes. The way they seemed to sink further into his head than normal should have been alarming, but was slightly alluring for a reason I couldn't come across. His pupils matched the thin hair atop his head that adopted the sexy-messy look you usually only found in models. He was about the same height as me, but just thin enough for me to imagine wrapping myself completely around his frame. Every exhale left his chest straining against his sweatshirt dramatically and left me dying to see more.

"Hey. You uh, got a light?" I asked nervously as I approached his right side.

He turned to me calmly as if I hadn't just appeared out of nowhere and opened his palm, revealing a red lighter already in place. He held it out for me to grab and I accepted, positioning my cigarette between my lips carefully as it caught flame. I thanked him with my first exhale as I handed the lighter back and turned to continue my unguided exploration.

"Where do you think you're going?"

The voice that rang through the air was not my own. As I peered back over my shoulder the sly look across the gorgeous boy's face confirmed it was his. He took another quick puff and peeled his back off of the pillar to face me.

"Nowhere, I guess." I shrugged closing the distance between us slowly.

"Well I'm not going to let you bum a light and leave if you're just going _nowhere_." He teased, his entire expression shimmering as he spoke.

The last word jumped sharply off the tip of his tongue, as if he was trying to place blame on me for something entirely rotten. The playful look in his eyes was as powerful as high tide. I was the helpless victim - being pulled in to his demise.

"Fair enough." I answered with a slight laugh as my feet planted firmly before his, trying hard to match his impeccable grin.

"You have a name?" His question came with a thick puff of smoke that forced him to suppress a cough.

"Miles. You?"

"Tristan Milligan. You got a last name?"

This time the cloud that released with much smoother and welcoming as if it went along side his name naturally. God damn, this guy was flawless.

"Uh yeah. Hollingsworth." I responded hesitantly but he seemed unfazed.

"And who is Miles Hollingsworth?"

I was taken back by his question. For fifteen years I had waited for somebody to act like they hadn't heard of me the moment they met me. But now that it came, I was at a loss for words. Opening up had never been my forte - mainly because there was so much to open up about but so little I felt I could actually say. The situation was as dangerous as a loaded gun.

"I'm me." I answered before realizing how dumb that actually sounded. Smooth move, dip shit. "I mean...what do you wanna know?"

"I wanna know _you_, Miles Hollingsworth." He spoke matter of factly, his eyes chasing the puff of smoke that left my shaky grip. "But if you need a place to start, you can start with how you apparently got your ass handed to you."

"Motorcycle accident." I gave the answer for the second time, just as convincing as the first.

"Bullshit." He answered almost immediately, his gaze flicking back up to mine.

"Excuse me?" My heart faltered as I choked the phrase out.

This was another new experience for me. My excuses had never gone detected before.

"That's bullshit and you know it. I can see it in your eyes."

"See what?"

"The pain." His voice suddenly grew softer. " It's not a physical pain. It's emotional pain. You didn't do this to yourself. Somebody did it to you. So spill. The correct answer this time. 'Cause I don't associate with phonies."

I sighed as he ashed the cigarette out as if his answer had been the easiest response in the world. My mind was spinning. My stomach felt as though it could betray me any moment. Every sense in my body told me to run, but my pounding heart coaxed me to stay. There was something so different about this Tristan - beyond his godlike looks and overpowering confidence - and different was just what I needed.

_'By the time I was your age I'd give anything_

_To fall in love truly was all I could think_

_That's when I met your father, the boy of my dreams_

_The most beautiful man that I'd ever seen'_


	2. A Wonderful Thing

**A/N: I'm loving the curiosity in the feedback I've gotten for this thus far! This is my first AU, so I'm happy to see people are on board with the concept I'm presenting. I'm so looking forward to being able to write these characters differently from how we see them on the show. Really, I'm just looking forward to writing this story in general. **

**One thing I forgot to mention in chapter one is that this story will switch from being told in Miles' POV to being told in Tristan's. So, look out for that to avoid confusion! :P Like always, I look forward to hearing everyone's thoughts on this chapter!**

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><p><span><strong>Tristan's POV<strong>

"The eyes are the window to the soul, Hollingsworth."

I continued cooly as I walked past him, letting the outer edge of my shoulder brush ever so slightly against his as I moved. Of course I left no time for him to answer my question. I didn't need to yet. There was no doubt he was going to follow, and sure enough the sound of his shoes padding against the concrete started behind me. My words were obviously not my own, but if there was one fact I was sure of in this world that was it. And knowing that was true, the window leading inside Miles Hollingsworth appeared to have been shattered long ago.

His eyes reminded me of a watercolor painting - various shades of green speckled with a rich brown like the few beautiful flowers in the dreariest of fields. Despite his badly repressed misery the kid didn't seem all that bad from first glance. His fashion sense was a bit too uptown for a teenager in our little Canadian town and he was awkward as hell. But he was pretty cute if you go for the dorky chic, 'so far into the closet they're prancing through Narnia' type. Which was proving to be more attractive by the minute. He trailed after me with this dumb, crooked smile that was just faint enough that if you blink you might miss it. I caught it in a glimpse when I turned around to ensure he was still there and it was impossible not to return.

"So, what all does a fictitious motorcycle accident leave a guy with anyways?"

I called out over the commotion of the chaotic health service traffic as I lead him out of the parking structure. We hung a right at the exit, crossing directly in front of a waiting vehicle stuck at a stand-still. The path behind the building was like an entirely new setting. You'd never know where you had just come from if it wasn't for the nearby wail of the ambulance sirens. So long as you were thin enough and didn't mind being ankle deep in the crisp autumn leaves that collected after being abandoned by the gnarled trees on the other side, you could walk single file between there and the rusted chain link fence with ease. The path was so long and narrow all you could really see ahead of you was the way the sunset blended in with the temporary orange and gold blanket that coated the ground. It was pretty in the most simplistic of ways. Especially considering that once winter hit, there would be a huge contrast in the way the ice blue sky met the dirt.

"Broken wrist and a mild concussion." Miles answered flatly, probably the most confident sentence he'd uttered all day.

"Dammit. Well, I guess fence hopping isn't in your future. We'll have to take the long way around."

"The long way to where, exactly?"

"Somewhere." I teased, doing a complete 180 so Miles could see the cheeky grin on my face.

He had been watching his own feet as he walked. But when I turned he peered up at me with a small laugh - light and airy like the current fall breeze. When he lowered his head again I caught glimpse of the bruise peeking out from under his disheveled bangs. I had noticed it when we met but in the outside light the combination of black and blue against his skin appeared in more detail. The brunette stumbling about the uneven surface turned out to be a lot more amusing than the view of going forward, which lead me to continue backwards for quite some time. It wasn't until a rustling noise that wasn't one of our own met my attention that I stopped in my tracks. Miles seemed apprehensive, and I suppose in such an unfamiliar circumstance I would have been too. But I knew what - or rather who - was coming, and grabbed on to Miles' arm to pull both of us against the rusted fence so she could pass.

"Hi Tristan." She barely lifted her frail hands to wave, her fingers limply piercing through the air.

"Hi Grace. Do me a favor and don't tell my mom you saw me here?"

"I won't if you won't." She offered with a friendly smile that assured my safety before her presence moved on to get lost in the shadows.

"Wouldn't have pegged you as a mamas boy." Miles tried his best at a playful jab, leaving me to roll my eyes in response.

"She volunteers at the hospital. If I get caught causing mischief on the premisis I won't be the only one in trouble."

"Oh." By the way Miles spoke, I knew he wasn't finished. But it took a long pause for him to vocalize his next thoughts. "So then that girl. She knew her. Does that mean she's..."

"Leukemia." I knew his question before it was even asked. "But was that really your first clue that she's sick?"

It wouldn't have taken a genius to know Grace was unwell. Although the artsy pattern of the do-rag on her head was beautiful, there was no mistaking that it was there to cover up her lack of hair. Her skin was as pale as paper except for the deep discoloration underneath her tired eyes. Even the way she moved was more cautious than the average teenager out for an evening stroll.

"No." He admitted shyly, as if the conversation had suddenly grown uncomfortable. "But then why is she allowed out here? Isn't that bad for her?"

"Not necessarily. She snuck out. Grace has never really been one to follow the rules. She's like, the resident bad-ass...used to have a crazy colors in her hair and a crap ton of piercings before she had to take them out. The way I see it, she's making the most of things while she still can. No use being cooped up in a hospital room counting down the minutes you have left, right?"

"I guess. Man, I fucking hate hospitals. Do you come with your mom often?"

"Yeah, something like that."

By now we had stopped at a gap in the fence that we had to step sideways to squeeze through. Miles did so without question, giving me yet another reason to appreciate his existence. We had to duck underneath the low hanging branches of trees to make our way through the darkness that had fallen. Twigs snapped underneath our steps as we stumbled about through the decrepit, overgrown grass. I heard Miles gasp when we finally came out the other side and caught sight of where our destination had been all along. There was really nothing special about the abandoned park - which, was probably why it had been forgotten about in time. It was the kind of place that made you wonder if just being in its presence required a tetanus shot. All of the playground equipment was either decaying or already broken. It had probably been years since a kid had been there to play on any of it.

"Whoa. What happened here?" The amazement of how a place expected to be so cheerful could be so morose was heavy in Miles' tone as he scanned the surroundings wide-eyed.

"Life." I only shrugged as we settled atop an old plastic picnic bench that wobbled and moaned under our weight.

We faced each other, sitting cross-legged atop the peeling tabletop. I dug deep into my pocket and retrieved my favorite red lighter along with an almost new packet of cigarettes. The turquoise and white design across the box was the prettiest thing I'd seen since we arrived. As Miles did the same I noticed his pack only had two remaining. Judging by his impression so far, he certainly seemed like the guy who would need one again in the near future.

"You ever smoke Menthols?" I questioned as I picked the most alluring stick from the crowd and wiggled it out.

"No. What's the difference?"

I audibly chuckled, shaking my head in amusement. His cluelessness made me wonder if the one he had been smoking earlier was even his own or if he'd just stolen a pack off of his parents on a whim.

"They taste like mint." Placing the cigarette between my lips I lit the end, taking one slow drag with an even slower exhale. "Kinda soothing. Makes your mouth cold and tingly."

I raised a flirtatious eyebrow in his direction before taking one more puff to feel it myself. The icy sensation ran smooth down my throat, sending chills throughout my insides. I shut my eyelids to absorb the feeling as I released a billowy cloud of smoke before me. I could feel Miles' stare on me the entire time, so it made it no surprise when his skepticism broke my concentration.

"Really?"

"Mmhm. Wanna see?"

I scooted closer to him until our knobby knees were touching. An inhale so deep it lifted my posture brought me upwards, leaning over his lap. His eyes flew shut as my short nails met his cheek, lightly tracing down the bone to cup his jaw. The goosebumps formed under the pad of my fingers as they trailed his hairless skin. The action urged his mouth open, allowing me to blow the smoke directly into the open chamber. I pursed my lips to control the direction of the smoke, bringing them as close to his as I was able without letting them touch. I could hear his breath hitch before he sucked in, inhaling the substance into his own waiting lungs. Though it was incredibly gentle, the out breath tickled as it misted my skin.

Our chests were so close I could nearly feel the vibrations from his rapid heartbeat competing with my own. Anticipation hung thick in the air like a canopy as we waited in the silence - barely thinking, barely moving, barely breathing. The entire scene was hot and heavy. I admired the new found calmness on his face for a moment before returning my ass to the hard surface of the table. By the time he reopened his fallen lids I was already back to finishing my cigarette, using my free hand to pull one out of the pack for him. He took it without any more questioning, using my lighter for the second time that day to fuel his supposed addiction. He was visibly flustered, and although I was much better at hiding it I would be lying if I'd said I left unaffected.

"You got a phone, Hollingsworth?" I inquired with my last puff before ashing out the butt onto the peeling plastic of our seat.

He nodded, taking the sleek black iPhone out of his front pocket and tossing it my way. I punched in the ten digits, leaving the name space empty for him to fill with whatever he desired. When I handed it back it took a moment of him mashing buttons before I heard the muffled melody coming from my own. Retrieve, open, type, send, and...

"5:30?" He read my text aloud before looking at me quizzically. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Something wonderful."

I informed him matter-of-factly as I untangled my legs and let them swing over the edge of the table. I hopped to my feet and brushed the dust off the back of my pants upon landing. Miles was quick to mimic my movements.

"And what might that be?"

"Well. Unfortunately I didn't tell anyone where I was going and it is getting kind of late. So I'm heading back to where I came from. You'd better get some sleep, because I expect that head injury to be healed enough for you to remember the _actual_ story of how you got the crap kicked out of you...tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" He repeated as if he hadn't heard me clearly.

"Tomorrow. Right here. At 5:30."

It wasn't a question rather than a demand. But I was nearly positive he would have no opposition to it. I began the trek back through the playground, knowing exactly which direction to turn to take me back where I needed to go. I would have waited for Miles, but truthfully I didn't want him to see the apple red color beginning to blossom on the appropriate section of my face. So I zig-zagged between the old seesaw and around the empty sandbox, hopping over gopher holes inconveniently placed underneath the tall grass. The sound of his muttered curses and occasional run-ins with things he couldn't see ensured that once again Miles had come after me without prompting.

"And what's so wonderful about that?"

He finally asked once we were in the clear. I finally waited for him as he slid through the gape of the fences after me and we were on the straight and narrow path that lead us there in the first place. With only one direction to go from there, it would be pretty difficult to lose him. Luckily, that wasn't my intention. I knew he wouldn't be able to make it out in the darkness, but I flashed him a cheeky grin anyways.

"I know your concussion hasn't made you _that _stupid, Hollingsworth."

_'He said Boy can I tell you a wonderful thing_

_I can't help but notice you staring at me.'_


End file.
